Kingdoms of Skulls
by Mesmir
Summary: In the North, two brothers of House Winchester face unexpected events that could change their lives and the world forever. (Reuploaded from Ao3)


I clearly don't own either Game of Thrones or Supernatural. I'd like to dedicate this fic to sluttygabriel over on Tumblr. You gave me a lot to work with, and for that, I thank you.  
Like, huge HUGE thank you. To have someone giving me ideas really prompted me to go ahead and write it. The title comes from the Bastille song 'Skulls'- which I happened to listen to a fair bit when I was writing the first chapter. As such, inspiration from it will probably be reflected throughout.  
Anyway, enough ranting. I hope people enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

* * *

There was a faint metallic taste in his mouth, but he simply licked his lips and trudged on. Under foot, leaves that were rapidly drying out crunched, the flaked bits carried off in the wind. The wind was cold for this time of year, regardless of the fact he was in the North. There was a difference between cold and __cold__, he thought. This coldness made his bones ache, a warmth that could only be sickness seize at his muscles, and it made him long for a nice long bath.

Everywhere Sam turned, the forest never seemed to end. Above, the sun was hidden. Quiet voices whispered to him, telling him something was coming. He paced, trying to see past the trees.

__"What? What is coming?"__ he asked, almost pleading. From their tones, it was something old. Older than the Wall, older than the First Men.

The voices shrieked and wailed, pitches high and tones as piercingly cold as the snow that had begun to hug the ground. They didn't stop, only growing louder. He crouched, flinching at the noise. The ache in his bones, the warmth... it all grew worse. He begged the voices to tell him, his own voice choked with pain. He was alone out there, just a boy of fifteen as he was. No big brother Dean to shield him, prod him into raising his sword, and his Father was certainly nowhere to be seen. He was all alone here, the only one hearing the voices of the old souls, of the Old Gods. Only him.

Their words slowly became less of a wail and more audible as actual words.

"__The Wall won't hold them back, Child. The Seven Kingdoms are doomed."__

Vibrant blue eyes stared at him from across the line of trees, unblinking. There was nothing but pure frozen malice in those eyes that stared out from that gaunt face. Sam whimpered, throwing his head back.

A lone howl echoed across the icy land.

* * *

The taste of honeyed water passing through his dry lips and down his throat in little drops was what Sam woke up to. His eyes fluttered open, and as they did, he became aware of the presence of his brother. Dean put the cloth down and sighed, only then noticing that his younger brother had awoken.

"Sam! You finally woke up." Dean's lips curved upward in a relieved smile. He looked well rested, so Sam guessed that he hadn't been looking after him for very long. That said, his brother was dressed in his riding gear; hardened leather vest, arm guards, a thick woolen tunic, his riding pants and boots. Not to mention the fur trimmed cloak he had hastily thrown over one shoulder. Its colour was a grey-white, probably wolf. For a moment, he panicked, looking around.

Dean caught his frantic gaze and reached for a cup which he subsequently put to Sam's lips. Sam drank greedily without voicing his concerns until he had finished, only then realising how cold he was. He tugged up his furs to around his chin and sighed.

"Dean, where's Hunter?" his tone was quiet but clearly worried. If the pup had been killed, he would not be happy. He had only had her for four months- coming across the wolf on the back from a hunting trip, where they'd caught the pup out as she stalked them. She was little, of indeterminable age, and his father had wanted to simply just kill and skin her, no questions asked. Sam, however, had other ideas. After bargaining with his father, they agreed that he could keep her only if he kept her out of harms way, fed her, and trained her.

Dean whistled and the small wolf rose from beside the fireplace, trotting over and leaping up gracefully. Sam freed one of his hands and patted Hunter on the head. "I'll have to get back to training you soon, pup, " he grinned as the wolf nuzzled into his side and laid down with her head on Sam's chest. He sighed, grateful for another source of heat.

Sam looked to his brother again, whom had risen and was looking out the window. "Dean?" he questioned, "How long was I unconscious for?"

The elder pondered on this for a moment before moving over to the fireplace and putting another log onto the embers. Watching the fire flare up reluctantly, he thought once more, "Five nights. Your fever broke two nights ago, though, " he shrugged, glancing back at him, "You talked a lot in your sleep... Some stuff about... White Walkers?" he actually laughed at that point, quickly interrupting Sam's prompt attempt to tell him about the dream he'd had- one he'd had since he was fifteen, that was ever changing with its details-, "You have such silly nightmares, Sammy."

Sam huffed. He was seventeen- more a man than a boy, in any right. His nightmares were __not__ silly. He had nightmares, even just normal dreams, about people dying. More often than not, like in the past year, they involved that creature with the glowing blue eyes and gaunt pale face- a White Walker. From what he guessed, his dreams could be __more__ than dreams. He had already worked out that the Old Gods favoured him, had blessed him some what- they spoke to him sometimes. Then, he could control animals, sometimes even at will- he found out from a very old tome that this meant he was a Warg, someone who could enter animal's minds eventually, with practice, at will. It did come to his mind that __animal__ implied humans as well, which irked him slightly. Why would he want to take over someone?

"You know my nightmares aren't silly." he stated, patting Hunter quietly. The wolf pup licked his hand, her eyes following his every move before they watched Dean. Dean looked at the wolf, a little unsettled by the intelligence in those amber eyes. He shook his head, no. "You read too many old stories. And stories in general! Who cares about the Wildlings, let them fight out amongst themselves. Dream about home, stop focussing on matters past the Wall. When you become Lord of Winterfell, you'll need to focus on the people- our people. By then, __I__ will be taking care of those stupid Wildlings."

Sam blinked, confused for all of but a moment. He had thought that that argument had been closed, finished. But apparently not. That irked him some. "I thought we had agreed that you would be the better Lord. Besides, you're the eldest. You have every right, and you're choosing the Night's Watch over being Lord of Winterfell? You've already broken a vow or two before you've even started, Dean! You can't walk around Castle Black with a woman on your arm, you know."

__That__ got a response. Dean clenched his jaw and busied himself with poking the fire. He crouched, warming his hands.

"That's the thing, I'm joining so I can start anew. I want to do something good in my life. That's why I'm joining."

"You'll get bored."

"Never. I'm going to make Dad proud..." Dean relaxed, a jovial smile working its way onto his lips, "Anyway, we have visitors. From House Angel, of the Reach."

Sam exhaled a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. House Angel of the Reach, not House Angel of King's Landing. Or of Storm's End. Those of the Reach were the most removed from the House, mostly a House of their own right, though a minor one at that. That they had come to Winterfell was amusing- none of the House Angel had come this far North in years. Confused, he decided to voice the unspoken question; "Why?"

Dean sat on the floor and grinned in Sam's direction. "Probably a betrothal for you, brother."

Sam groaned, pulling the furs and blankets over his head. He breathed in the smell of warmth and cleanliness, and the lingering smell of illness. "To whom?"

"I didn't ask. They got here yesterday."

Sam peered at his brother, "Is that why you're dressed like that?" "I was invited to go hunting. I got to lead the group." Dean looked so proud of himself, straightening his back and grinning. Sam sighed. He prayed to the Gods, both old and new, that it wasn't an offer of betrothal. Their House needed the funds, but there were surely better ways. That said, John always seemed eager to jump at any chance of kicking him out, though Sam was reluctant to ask the reason why; he never questioned. It was just a fact of life, his father didn't particularly like him.

* * *

After quickly breaking his fast, Sam got out of bed. He bathed, washing out his hair before he relaxed. The bath was soothing, the smell of scented oils surrounding him. At least, if he __had__ to meet this lady, he'd smell nice. He got out and dried off, drying his hair briskly before he dressed in his typical clothes- faintly embroidered garb of blue and grey hues. He pulled on his soft, leather boots before he left his room. The air was a little cold but it did not bother him as he walked downstairs and through the courtyard.

"Ser! Do you know where I could find the stable?"

He turned, eyes searching for the source of the voice. He stopped. The source was a pretty girl who was about his age, slender, blonde, absolutely gorgeous. She was dressed in a pale blue dress, long and flowing. The breeze blew it about, the fabric clearly not thick enough as this caused her to shiver a little, never losing that enchanting smile. He cleared his throat, pointing to the stables.

"Right in there, Lady...?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Jessica. Just Jessica. Thank you."

Sam felt himself grinning stupidly, unable to stop looking at her, "Sam."

"Winchester?" he nodded, "By the Gods! I'm supposed to marry you!"

Sam was unable to find a suitable exclamation other than "Thank the Gods it's you." He smiled as did she, and they both stood there, unsure of how to proceed. Finally, Jessica gave a small wave, "I'll see you at the dinner then." she called out to him.

After she had left, a man in tow, to the stables, Sam left the courtyard. He hummed to himself. If she was Jessica, as in the adopted child of House Angel of the Reach, he certainly wasn't complaining. The dregs of sickness that had plagued the back of his mind disappeared as he walked, only stirred up slightly by the breeze. He noted that it was a little cold for a __Summer__ breeze. He frowned, that did not bode well.


End file.
